


Wardens, Qunari and Darkspawn, oh my!

by TheDarkLordMegatron



Series: Zine Pieces [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Determination, Humor, Hurt, It will literally take the apocalypse to keep this man down, non-graphic injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkLordMegatron/pseuds/TheDarkLordMegatron
Summary: When Aedan had first set out to find a cure for the Calling, he’d known that it was never going to be as simple as taking a trip to Weisshaupt’s archives in search of a book or two.After all, nothing in his life had ever been that easy.However, if he was completely honest with himself, he hadn’t anticipated that he would find himself sitting alone in the depths of the Deep Roads that were apparently hidden beneath Seheron.
Series: Zine Pieces [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505765
Kudos: 1





	Wardens, Qunari and Darkspawn, oh my!

**Author's Note:**

> My piece from the 'In Peace Vigilance' Grey Warden zine!
> 
> I'm actually pretty proud of this fic AND it's not angst! Miracles do happen!

When Aedan had first set out to find a cure for the Calling, he’d known that it was never going to be as simple as taking a trip to Weisshaupt’s archives in search of a book or two. After all, nothing in his life had ever been that easy. However, if he was completely honest with himself, he hadn’t anticipated that he would find himself sitting alone in the depths of the Deep Roads that were apparently hidden beneath Seheron. 

\---

It had started as all of his previous expeditions had, with a rumour. Whilst he had been traversing the wilds of Tevinter following an excursion into an old Warden stronghold, one of his many contacts in the Imperium had left a note at one of their appointed dead-drops. According to one of the Magisters, the Qunari had taken to investigating a set of ruins just outside of their main encampment on Seheron, a ruin that was rumoured to have belonged to the Wardens over four hundred years earlier before falling into a state of disrepair. 

One letter to the Arishok and a boat-ride from hell later, Aedan found himself sitting in said Arishok’s temporary quarters. The man had travelled from Par Vollen for the sole purpose of speaking with him about his ‘discovery’.

“I cannot allow you to wander the area unaccompanied,” Sten, no, the Arishok now, had commented as he refilled Aedan’s cup with a drink that could probably kill him if he allowed himself to indulge   
“You are, after all, not of the Qun.”

“I sense a ‘but’ hidden in there somewhere,” Aedan teased, leaning in to grin at his old friend, who in turn simply raised an eyebrow though he could see the amusement sparkling in his eyes. 

“You are a Warden-Commander,” Was the Arishok’s response “And a very stubborn man. If you were to...liberate a map produced by our researchers, and sneak out in the night, I could not stop you.” 

He made a show of knocking a piece of paper onto the floor and watching with bored eyes as it fluttered onto the ground by Aedan’s feet. “It is quite easy for lone documents to go missing amidst the chaos of my unannounced arrival.” 

They had drunk well into the night, sharing stories and swapping information. However, once it came for them to retire for the night, one man slept with a content smile on his face while the other stole away into the night, map firmly in hand. 

\---

As a tourist destination, he could think of far worse places to spend one’s time than exploring Seheron’s sprawling rainforests. 

Minrathous took the top spot on his 'Places I Will Never Go Back To' list. 

Unfortunately, despite how beautiful it looked during the day, attempting to navigate it whilst avoiding the murderous wildlife come night, made it significantly less attractive. He would much rather spend his time freezing his backside off in the predominantly lifeless Frostbacks, than the sweltering, filled with things that want to eat him, wilderness of Seheron. How the Qunari, and the Vints before them, had found the island’s humid climate attractive and livable would always be beyond him, as would the logic behind constructing a fortress in a location with a supposedly non-existent amount of Darkspawn activity. That being said, despite the negative environmental aspects of the fortress’ location, it’s close proximity to the main Qunari encampment was most fortunate. 

There were, after all, very few people in Thedas willing to set up shop within spitting distance of a race known to be quite violent. But for a man who was being hunted by the Wardens, Seheron and her inhabitants were a gift. He was free to explore to his heart's content, whereas his previous exploits had seen him hunted by Wardens and bounty hunters alike, resulting in him having to abandon his research before he could find anything of any use.

Which was what he had been doing for close to three hours when everything, in his mother’s words, went to hell in a handbasket. 

He was in the process of dragging himself through a particularly narrow crawlspace, shuffling his pack and candle ahead of himself with all the grace of a drunkard when the ground beneath him gave way. 

None of his previous research, nor that obtained by the Qunari, suggested that there was a cavern hidden under the ruins, and yet, that is exactly what he found himself falling into. One that was apparently, filled with far too many rocky outcroppings for his liking, especially as he seemed to collide with every single one on his way down. 

By the time he finally hits the ground, he’s torn between cursing up a storm and simply being grateful that he’s still breathing. Even if the latter does involve a significant amount of pain. Being alive and having a few broken bones was still significantly more attractive than being dead and forced to face whatever being awaited him in the afterlife. 

“Maker’s breath,” he mutters once he’s certain that there will be no more rockfalls following his less than graceful descent. For a few moments more he simply lays there, attempting to catch his breath and taking stock of his injuries. Several broken or at least, cracked, ribs, a potentially dislocated shoulder, something he’s going to have to rectify if he has any hope of getting out alive; and a thoroughly bruised body. All in all, it could be worse but it’s still going to be one hell of a task to get himself topside once again. Reluctantly he forces himself to sit upright, closing his eyes and breathing heavily at the sudden onset of nausea that has accompanied the movement, apparently he’s going to have to add a concussion onto his list of injuries. It takes a further minute or two for his world to stop spinning and for him to finally get to his feet, and to his great relief a brief examination of his left arm confirms that no, it’s not dislocated, he’d just been laying at an awkward angle.

Excellent. 

Content with the knowledge that he’s not going to have to fiddle around with limb relocation any time soon, Aedan takes stock of his current situation. With the exception of a small patch of sunlight streaming in through the now, not-so-small crawlspace, there are no other light sources, however, he is still able to make out the barest details of each wall which means the cavern is thankfully smaller than he’d expected. On one hand, it’s a relief as the light allows him to make out each detail and confirm to himself that, no, he’s not going to fall through any more unexpected holes. On the other, it means that his only way out is going to be to scale the walls, which he’s not entirely certain could support his weight, nor is he confident in his wall-climbing abilities with his ribs as battered as they are. 

He sighs softly to himself, looking around for anything that might indicate another possible way out, but much to his dismay, nothing immediately makes itself known. Resigning himself to the fact that he’s going to have to spend a significant amount of time stumbling around like a newborn nug, Aedan stumbles his way over to the nearest wall, angling his body in a way that he’s not obstructing what little light he has and begins running his hands over the rough walls. It’s hardly an ideal situation but it’s the best option he has if he wants to see the daylight again. 

He absolutely refuses to die in one of Seheron’s many pits. 

Alistair would kill him.

\---

Evidently, stumbling around in the dark was not one of his better ideas. In fact, he’s quite happy to state that it was probably one of his worst ones, an utterly stupid idea that somehow lead to him crawling through yet another tunnelesque structure, only this time he’s not alone. Apparently, the Darkspawn take exception to having a Warden pop out of one of their walls, book it across what appeared to be a gathering place of sorts and throw himself into the first hole he finds. It’s not his fault that the only exit out of that Andraste-forsaken cavern happened to lead him to their ‘home’. As underequipped and injured as he is, he would much rather avoid a fight if at all possible, unfortunately, the creatures chasing him clearly don't feel the same. 

Had Nathaniel been with him, Aedan is quite certain that he would be doing nothing but insulting him and informing him that crawling further into the caves was not something anyone who wanted to survive, did. But Nathaniel isn't here to lecture him, nor is he ever going to find out about his Commander's frankly stupid split-second decisions. That knowledge will either die with him when he's inevitably caught and turned into a roast, or be something he will proudly tell Fergus' grandchildren about when he becomes their crazy old uncle.

He just has to survive first.

\---

He’s not quite sure how long he had been running, well crawling, for his life by the time the Darkspawn do finally give up chasing him. He is, however, fairly certain that he’s doing to die in one of the hundreds of Maker-forsaken tunnels he keeps coming across and it is utterly infuriating. In retrospect, he knows he made the wrong decision by leaving the cavern in the first place. The Arishok knew where he was, knew what it was he was searching for and likely would have sent a scout or two looking for him, especially when he discovered that Aedan had ‘borrowed’ one of his personal research journals. 

Now though, now there is no hope of anyone finding him, bar the Darkspawn.

Panting heavily, Aedan allows himself a moment of reprieve, all but collapsing to the floor when the adrenaline starts to wear off and the pain of his previous injuries once again make themselves known. Much like the others, there are no distinguishing features surrounding him, not that he would be able to identify them considering he cannot even see his own hands. Indeed, it’s a miracle that he’s made it this far without harming himself any further. 

He could just...give up. Close his eyes and allow himself to sleep. Likewise, it would be so easy to follow the haunting song that had taken up residence in the back of his mind months ago, allow it to lead him back to the Darkspawn camp and lose himself to their brutality. Would they kill him? Or would they leave his broken body in the corner and wait until the song consumed him completely until nothing remained bar the desire to obey the song? Would he eventually, as one of the thousands of nameless creatures, emerge on the surface to start another Blight? How ironic. The man who had slain the previous Archdemon and helped to end the previous one, becoming one of the instruments responsible for starting the next. 

“No,” He rasps, shaking his head. He will either die in service to the Wardens or at the end of his own blade. Clenching his fists, he forces himself back to his feet. To rest is to surrender. To surrender is to die, and he cannot die. Not when the lives of his fellow Wardens depend upon his success. Weisshaupt might be determined to allow those serving the order to die slow and painful deaths in the name of the Order, but he’ll be damned before he lets his people die when there is something he can do to stop it. “Keep going,” He mutters to himself, his left hand running across the surface of the wall as he pushes onwards. 

He is Aedan Cousland. Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, brother to Teryn Fergus Cousland and Uncle to the cutest twins in Thedas. It’ll take more than the combined attempts of the Darkspawn and random caverns to kill him. And once everything is said and done, he’s going to stand outside of Weisshaupt’s gates and tell the First Warden exactly where he can shove his ‘sacrifice’.


End file.
